


Safekeeping

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Delirious Castiel, Family Feels, Feverish Castiel, Gen, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Restraints, Scared Castiel, Ticklish Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 15:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17790146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A surprise attack by one of Michael’s hybrid creations leaves Cas with an infected wound that sees him delirious and confined to the infirmary, in restraints to stop him ripping out the stitches.But Cas can’t remember that he’s home and safe, and his memories of the times he’s been held down and restrained by people who wanted to hurt him confuse him even more.All Sam and Dean can do is be there, and try to convince him he’s safe.





	Safekeeping

_Fuck you_ , Dean thinks, and he knows the bastard locked in his head can hear him. It’s not enough, but until he can think of a way to get Michael out without ending up a scraped out shell, it’s all he can do.

But when that day comes, Dean’s going to gank that murdering son of a bitch before he can take a step.

The thought of it helps a little, when Castiel moans, and tries again to reach for the wound on his side, and makes a small, scared sound when he realises why he can’t move.

The thick leather cuffs around his wrists, the ones they marked with Enochian sigils to keep an angel in check, because something always seemed to try and get in their angel, and turn him, or hurt him, or take him away.

The ones they’d hoped never to have to use, but here they are, and Dean puts a cold cloth on Cas’s forehead, and tries to get him to relax, tells him it’s okay, that’s he’s safe, and this is all for his own good.

He doesn’t know what that thing was that came out of the dark and jumped Cas; one of Michael’s Frankenstein monsters, hyped up and vicious and so fucking hard to put down that by the time they did, Cas was bitten and bleeding.

He was near delirious by the time they got him back to the bunker, and after the second time he’d pulled out his stitches (the first was by accident, when a fever fit made him so taut the thread just snapped), both he and Sam knew the restraints had to go on.

The bite’s already red and leaking pus, even though they’ve cleaned it out twice, and normally Dean would leave a wound like that open; but Cas’s Grace will take care of the infection, if they just keep his fever down to give it a chance.

He was losing too much blood to not try and close up the wound.

But now it’s been nearly four hours, and Dean’s moved past being worried and gone straight through to scared.

He’s also exhausted, and thankful that Sam shows up when he does.

Not just because he’s running on fumes, but because he doesn’t think he can take another minute of Cas forgetting he’s safe in their home, and looking around him in terror and fighting and struggling weakly, and then, finally, shaking and ashamed, begging for them to not hurt him again, to let him go.

Even when Dean collapses into his bed, sleep never really comes.

++

“You’re safe, Cas,” Sam says.

He dabs at Cas’s face, neck and chest with the damp cloth, noting that there’s not as much infection draining from the wound now, that it isn’t quite as inflamed as before.

But Cas doesn’t seem any better, besides that.

He keeps thinking he’s someplace else, tied up and helpless, and Sam’s reassurances that no one will hurt him, that they’ll make sure he’s okay, can’t seem to stick.

“Where are Dean and Sam?” It’s maybe the tenth time he’s asked since Sam took a shift.

“I’m here, Cas,” Sam says. He rests his hand on the angel’s shoulder, thumb stroking lightly across warm skin. “Dean’s getting some sleep, but he’s in the bunker too. That’s where we all are. Home. You know this, Cas. Please, it’s okay.”

Cas tries to sit up, like he wants to go and make sure of everything Sam’s said, but the restraints check him, and he slumps back with a groan.

“I don’t know anything,” he says. “I can’t tell you anything. Don’t, please, don’t.”

Sam manages to gets some water into him, though he has to fight a little, and then he settles down to wait this out with the angel.

He has a book with him, an old study on whether or not vampires can be cured _after_ their first feeding, but he doesn’t even try to read it.

There’s no way he can concentrate on the words, and instead he just sits there and watches their angel.

That how he knows they’re not alone.

Cas squints past him, to the corridor outside the infirmary, and tenses in his bonds.

“Sam, look out.”

He startles at the sudden progress, but then turns to see who’s standing there.

It’s Bailey, one of the refugees, and one that he and Dean have been watching. The guy sets off their early warning system, even though Bobby’s vouched for him, especially where Cas is concerned.

“What are you doing there?” Sam demands.

Bailey takes a step into the room and that’s a step too far and Sam’s immediately on his feet.

The guy doesn’t come closer, but he doesn’t back out, either, and Sam doesn’t like it that he feels so sure of himself in their home.

“Just checking,” he says. “Heard it got sick. Just wanted to see if it was true.”

“ _He’ll_ be fine,” Sam snaps. “You can get the fuck out now.”

Bailey stands there, staring at him, all easy challenge, like he wants to see if Sam’ll make him.

If he’ll try.

Sam knows that someday soon, that’s what it’ll come to. But he’s not brawling with this guy when Cas is sick and already scared, not unless Bailey takes another step.

He doesn’t. Just smiles coldly at Sam, and gives Cas a look that promises nothing good, and then saunters away,

Sam turns his chair so that he’s still next to Cas, but this time he’s facing the door.

++

When Dean wakes up, and swaps places with his brother, Cas is a little more present.

He knows he’s sick, hurt, and that the restraints are still necessary: not so much now because he’d tried to fiddle with the stitches in the middle of his delirium, but because now he can’t seem to help himself.

The wound hurts, itches, burns. So much so that Cas can’t leave it alone. He begs Dean to free him, but Dean knows that if he does, Cas will have those stitches out in a second, and trying to get them back in, and Cas back into the cuffs, will be a nightmare.

It breaks his heart to say no, but he does it anyway.

And he gets that it’s not just about the stitches.

Every time someone has held Cas down, restrained him, it’s been for bad things. They’ve really been the only exception, cuffing him when, like now, he’s been sick and out of control.

Dean tells himself it’s different, but when he sees Cas looking so skittish, jumping at every sound that echoes to them, every shadow or hint of movement, it’s hard to believe it.

Because maybe Cas doesn’t believe it, not deep down.

And it doesn’t help that they don’t get left alone.

Sam told him about Bailey, and Dean has plans there. As soon as Cas is better, that guy is leaving the bunker. He’s looked the wrong way at their angel too many times, and Dean wants to kick his own ass that he hasn’t done anything about it before now.

Part of him hopes Bailey will come sniffing around, because if he does Dean might not have to worry about chucking him out.

More like worrying about finding someone to bury the bastard’s body.

But Bailey stays clear, maybe knowing that Dean’s temper is a little more hair trigger than Sam’s.

And then, another hour or so after that, Dean does his next scheduled check of the wound, and it’s gone.

No redness. No sluggishly knitting edges, still oozing blood and ruin. The stitches have worked themselves loose, lying against Cas’s skin.

“Hey,” Dean says. He brushes the threads away, and Cas huffs, pulling away for reasons nothing to do with pain.

Dean knows he’s a little shit, but does it again, just to see Cas try not to squirm, and try not to laugh.

He isn’t quite successful.

“Dean,” he protests, and then sobers and tugs at the cuffs.

“Okay,” Dean says, and quickly undoes the heavy buckles, and rubs at Cas’s wrists before helping him sit up a little more.

There’s a blanket on the other bed, and Dean grabs it and shakes it open and wraps it around his angel.

Cas might not _need_ it, but he doesn’t complain, even sinking a little deeper into the folds of warming fabric.

“You okay?”

The angel nods. “Now,” he says. “Thank you.”

Dean resists the urge to ruffle that shock of black hair.

“Who else is gonna look after your ass,” he says. “That’s our job. You’re our family.”

Cas might be an angel, but he can still break out one hell of a blush.


End file.
